E V I L
by Trish Bennett
Summary: A strange little tale of vampirism in the 4077th. It was written on a dare, okay?


E*V*I*L  
by Trish Bennett  
  
Dear Dad:   
  
I know I've told you before how boring this place can be. Lately, though, it's been beyond boring. In fact, we would have to take two steps up to even catch a glimpse of boring.   
  
I suppose I shouldn't complain. In our line of work, boredom is infinitely better than the alternative.   
  
Still, it would be nice to have something to occupy our time. Anything to alieviate the mind-numbing nothingness that calls itself Korea.   
  
Well, Dad, I think I'll sign off now. (See? Even I've become boring!) My love to everyone.   
  
Your son,   
  
Hawkeye   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
"Hawkeye, you can't go in there..."   
  
Captain Benjamin Franklin Pierce paused just long enough in the middle of the clerk's office to shoot Corporal O'Reilly an impatient glare.   
  
"Why not?"   
  
O'Reilly took the opportunity to scurry into position between Pierce and the Colonel's office door.   
  
"Colonel Blake is real busy, Hawkeye," he said. "He said he didn't want to be disturbed."   
  
Hawkeye grinned. "Henry was disturbed long before I ever met him, Radar..."   
  
"No kiddin', Hawkeye," he said. "He said he didn't want to see anyone...especially you."   
  
Hawkeye scoffed. "He did not say that..."   
  
Radar shoved a crumpled paper into the Captain's hands.   
  
"I don't want to see anyone," Hawkeye read aloud. "Especially Hawkeye." He rolled his eyes and tossed the paper over his shoulder as he pushed past Radar into the Colonel's office.   
  
"Rise and shine, Henry," he said rather loudly as he barreled through the swinging door.   
  
Henry Blake offered him a long-suffering look from behind the desk. "Dammit, Pierce..."   
  
"I know you're busy, but Radar insisted that I drop by."   
  
He heard an indignant snort from the company clerk behind him. "I did not!"   
  
Henry rolled his eyes. "It's all right, Radar. You can go." He waited for the doors to swing closed behind his company clerk before turning back to Hawkeye. "What is it now, Pierce?"   
  
Hawkeye dropped into the chair in front of Blake's desk. Restless, he stood up again. "Henry, I'm..."   
  
"Wait..." he interrupted. "Let me guess. You're bored, right?"   
  
"Right."   
  
"Just like you were bored at lunch," Henry continued, his own boredom overpowering the annoyance in his voice. "And at 3:30 this morning...and in the mess tent last week... I know. You're bored!"   
  
Hawkeye alternated between pacing the plywood floor and fidgeting in the rickety chair. "Henry, if we don't find something to do around here, I'm gonna go crazy!"   
  
"You wanna hear about crazy?" Henry said. "I've spent the entire afternoon on the phone with the Quartermaster's office trying to explain why we don't need the 30,000 rolls of toilet paper sitting in that supply truck parked outside. I mean, Hell's Bells! What am I supposed to do with 30,000 rolls of toilet paper?"   
  
Hawkeye shrugged. "Let Klinger stuff 15,000 bras?"   
  
Henry ignored him. "Then General Milton wants a five-page detailed report in triplicate explaining why our creamed corn consumption is higher than average."   
  
"Well, that would explain the extra toilet paper..."   
  
Henry shot him a disapproving glare. "And if that's not enough to shine your shoes, I've got Frank Burns over in post-op recovering from a bat bite."   
  
Hawkeye stopped pacing. "Frank was bitten by a bat? Is he all right?"   
  
"Well, it was just a little nip, but it drew blood. He's gonna need rabies shots..."   
  
"I meant the bat."   
  
Henry pointed sternly toward the door. "Get outta here, Pierce. Now."   
  
"Okaaay, Henry, geez..." Hawkeye said mockingly, heading for the door. "You're so cranky when you don't get your nap out..."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Hawkeye ambled through the doors of the near-empty post-op with a hopeful spring in his stride. Not only was this the most interesting condition the hospital had seen in the past three weeks (Klinger's bunions notwithstanding), but any affliction involving Frank Burns was always good for a chuckle.   
  
He met Trapper John McIntyre just inside the doorway, white coat on his back, clipboard in hand, and an adorable nurse hanging on his every word. Trapper possessed the uncanny ability to appear professional and lecherous all at the same time.   
  
"Hey, Trap..."   
  
"I'll talk to you later, Sweetheart," McIntyre told his companion with a wink. His eyes remained focused on the lower portion of her anatomy until it disappeared through the doors.   
  
"So, how's the patient?" Hawkeye asked, grinning with delight.   
  
"Typical Frank Burns," Trapper said. "You'd think he just stepped on a land mine. And Mother Margaret over there is no help at all..."   
  
Hawkeye glanced over to see Major Margaret Houlihan hovering over the bed-ridden Burns, swabbing his forehead with a sickening, motherly touch. He took the clipboard from McIntyre's hands and moved to join them.   
  
As he approached, Hawkeye noticed the large white square bandaging the wound on Burns' throat. He had expected it to be a finger or a hand, but with Burns anything was possible.   
  
"A hickey from a bat, Frank?" Hawkeye said, grinning as he seated himself on the edge of the cot. "What's the matter? Couldn't wait for Hot Lips to get off duty?"   
  
Margaret's face puckered, and she shot him an icy glare.   
  
"It wasn't a bat!" Frank insisted in a whine that was his alone. Trademarked and patented. All rights reserved. "It was too big to be a bat...the size of a man!"   
  
"Right, Frank..."   
  
"I mean it!" he said, coming halfway off the cot before Margaret pushed him back again.   
  
"Ooh!" Hawkeye said with approval. "I love it when you get physical!"   
  
This time her glare was more than icy... it was positively hypothermic.   
  
"You believe me, don't you, Pierce?"   
  
"Sure I do, Frank," he said. "A dark, furry man with wings bit you on the neck." He glanced up at Trapper at his side. "If it wasn't for the 'wings' part, I'd suspect Klinger."   
  
Margaret straightened from the bedside, indignant. "If you just came here to make fun, Captain, we don't need you. Please leave."   
  
Hawkeye rose as well, feigning bewilderment. "You're throwing me out?"   
  
"Yes!" she insisted haughtily.   
  
"Could you man-handle me a little bit first?"   
  
He ducked just in time to avoid the bedpan aimed at his head.   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
The days dragged on endlessly... Okay, technically it was only two days, but to Hawkeye it seemed like the days dragged on endlessly. No patients... no new mail... no new nurses... Nothing with which an active mind and an even more active imagination could occupy itself.   
  
That had to be why he was fixating on this, Hawkeye assured himself. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have thought twice about Frank Burns and his peculiarities of late. In fact, peculiarity and Frank Burns belonged together, like doctors and nurses... baseball and hotdogs... naked volleyball and a fine, dry martini.   
  
But his peculiarity lately bordered on the bizarre, and as Hawkeye entered the Swamp, his mind was racing with unorthodox and even sinister conclusions.   
  
"Trapper, tell me something..."   
  
Hawkeye sat down heavily on his cot, resting his elbows on his knees.   
  
Trapper sighed. "Not without a good stiff belt first," he said, reaching for the still. He filled two glasses and handed one to his friend before laying back on his own cot. "What is it now?"   
  
"Has Frank been acting strange to you lately?"   
  
Trapper stared at him a moment, then burst into a long, loud belly-laugh. "If you consider lately to be as long as I've known him..."   
  
"I'm serious, Trap," Hawkeye said. "He just hissed at me."   
  
"He what?"   
  
"He came to relieve me in post-op, and he bared his teeth and hissed at me!" Hawkeye downed his drink in one gulp and reached for the pitcher to reload.   
  
"You're imagining things..."   
  
"Am I? Think about it..." He paced nervously back and forth, as if the movement would somehow aid the thought process. "It all started right after he was attacked by that bat, remember? Then suddenly he volunteered for the night shift. Started sleeping somewhere else because the Swamp was too bright for him. Come to think of it, I haven't even seen him in broad daylight for the past few days, have you?"   
  
"So?" Trapper obviously was not getting it.   
  
"Haven't you noticed that he looks paler than normal lately?"   
  
Trapper chuckled. "If Frank were any paler than normal, he'd be transparent."   
  
"And remember what he said in post-op the other night?" he persisted. "How it wasn't a bat, but more like a man."   
  
"Come on, Hawk," Trapper said. "We're talking about the same guy who applied for a Purple Heart when he slipped in the mud on the way to the shower."   
  
"Don't you get it?" Hawkeye said. "Pale skin, only comes out at night, all after being bitten by a bat...?"   
  
Trapper's face grew solemn. "If this is going where I think it's going, you need a vacation."   
  
"Come on, Trapper," he said just as he heard the creak of the door behind him. "What's it gonna take to convince you?"   
  
As if in answer to his question, Henry Blake's voice announced, "Our plasma's missing."   
  
Hawkeye spun to face the Colonel, then back to Trapper on the cot.   
  
"There! See?" he said smugly, trying to ignore the twitch that suddenly developed in his left eye. "Explain that!"   
  
Trapper rolled his eyes. "Our black market friends again, Henry?" he said.   
  
"Looks that way," the Colonel replied, gratefully accepting the drink Trapper offered. "They left the penicillin this time. I guess it could be worse."   
  
"Let me ask you something, Henry," Hawkeye said, undaunted. "Where's Frank been sleeping the past few days?"   
  
"In the supply tent. Why?"   
  
"Hawkeye thinks Frank is a vampire," Trapper said.   
  
Henry rolled his eyes. "Oh, geez, Pierce. Just because a man sleeps in a coffin, that does not make him a..."   
  
"Frank's been sleeping in a coffin??"   
  
"Well, yeah..." Henry said. "It's not like it's used or anything. And if you put a pillow in there, it's really kinda..." He trailed off as he noticed Hawkeye's stare. "What?"   
  
Without another word, Hawkeye gathered a few of his things and headed for the door.   
  
"Where are you going?" Trapper asked.   
  
"I think I'll sleep with Father Mulcahy tonight," he said. "There's something very comforting about a man with a cross right now."   
  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *  
  
Hawkeye awoke to the sound of voices he couldn't understand coming from the 4077th compound. Yawning, he staggered out into the bright, mid-morning sun.   
  
There he found Radar O'Reilly up to his ears in Koreans and livestock.   
  
"Radar," he said. "What's going on?"   
  
The young Corporal politely disentangled himself from the agitated mob and moved to join Hawkeye.   
  
"Two of their oxen were killed last night," Radar reported softly.   
  
Hawkeye perked up instantly. "Killed how?"   
  
"I dunno...some kind of animal attack." He shuddered. "They said their throats were ripped out."   
  
Hawkeye thought fast. "Send them home, Radar. Tell them we'll take care of it."   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"Just do it!" he said, practically running back toward the chaplain's tent. "I'll be right back."   
  
Hawkeye burst through the door of Mulcahy's tent, moving immediately for the desk in the corner. Rummaging clumsily through its contents, he felt more than just a little bit guilty stealing from a priest.   
It wasn't stealing, he assured himself. It was merely borrowing. And for a good cause, at that.   
  
Finally, he struck paydirt. Hawkeye wasted no time shoving the crosses and rosaries into the pocket of his blood-red... uh, correction... burgundy robe, snatched a carefully-wrapped bundle from under the good Father's bunk, and headed back into the compound.   
  
The native community shuffled away grumbling as Radar joined him in the center of the compound.   
  
"Come with me," Hawkeye said with determination.   
  
"Where?"   
  
Without a word, Hawkeye handed him one of the crosses from his pocket.   
  
"We're going to church?" Radar asked, puzzled, following already-moving Captain. "But it's only Wednesday..."   
  
Hawkeye explained their mission on the way to the supply tent. Unlike his other comrades in camp, Radar... bless him!... was easily persuaded.   
  
"You mean Major Burns is a vampire?" he whispered as they entered the tent.   
  
"That's what we're here to find out," Hawkeye whispered back as they cautiously edged their way through the darkness to the back of the tent where the government-issue coffins were stored.   
  
"Are you sure about this, Hawkeye?" Radar's voice quivered with uncertainty. "If I get turned into a vampire, my mother'll kill me!"   
  
Hawkeye spotted the open coffin just as he rounded the corner. He came to such an abrupt halt that Radar nearly toppled over him.   
  
"Look, Radar!" Hawkeye whispered urgently, his heart thumping. "He's still got the blood on his lips!"   
  
"Let's get outta here, Hawkeye..." his companion said nervously.   
  
Without answering, Hawkeye dropped to one knee and unrolled the bundle that was tucked under his arm. He collected the wooden stake and hammer silently and rose again to his feet.   
  
"Where'd you get that?" Radar asked, his voice shrill even in a whisper.   
  
"I made it last night," Hawkeye responded quickly, then shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."   
  
"Aw, geez, I can't look..."   
  
Hawkeye's head was pounding, his pulse resounding in his own ears, as he tiptoed stealthily toward the coffin. Frank was motionless, his eyes closed, his bright red lips a stark contrast to the pale white of his skin.   
  
Finally, he reached the edge of the coffin and sank to one knee beside it. Nervously, warily, he raised the stake and rested it ever so gently over the Major's heart.   
  
He felt the crinkle of the paper beneath Frank's shirt more than he actually heard it. Then he noticed the corner of an envelope protuding between the buttons. Burns had still not moved a muscle.   
  
Curious, he lowered the stake and delicately extracted the envelope from its hiding place. He opened it and gingerly unfolded the single piece of paper inside.   
  
It read:   
  
"Dear Son:   
  
At least you haven't been bored.   
  
Love,   
  
Dad"   
  
The words sunk in at precisely the same moment Radar burst into giggles behind him. Two seconds later, Burns himself erupted into laughter, along with the rest of the entire 4077th staff, who had somehow managed to cram themselves into the already crowded supply tent.   
  
"Gotcha!" Trapper said, holding out a hand to help Hawkeye to his feet.   
  
Hawkeye was stunned. "You mean, it was all a joke?" he said. "Orchestrated by my own father?"   
  
"Yep," Henry said proudly. "I thought we did a darn good job pulling it off, too, don't you?"   
  
Hawkeye stared at the paper in his hand blankly for several seconds, then clutched it to his heart with a feigned sniffle.   
  
"God, I love that man!"   
  
The laughter and commotion that followed managed to dissipate just as Radar stiffened. His eyes scanned the air around him before he finally made the announcement everyone knew was coming.   
  
"Choppers."   
  
"Ah, well..." Henry said as the exodus began. "Back to the ol' grindstone..."   
  
Hawkeye and Trapper started out together, but stopped when they heard Frank's familiar whine behind them.   
  
"He tried to kill me in my sleep!" he said to Margaret Houlihan as she helped him out of the coffin.   
  
The two doctors looked at each other, grinned, and turned back to Burns. One on either side of the fussy Major, they each wrapped an arm around his shoulder.   
  
"Lighten up, Frank," Hawkeye said lightly. "It's not like it's the first time..."   
  
THE END   



End file.
